


If I Spring A Leak [A Drunkard's Dream]

by SinnamonSpider



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, First Kiss, M/M, Making Out, Sibling Incest, Tumblr Prompt, Wincest - Freeform, Wincest Writing Challenge, weird laws
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 04:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14012316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnamonSpider/pseuds/SinnamonSpider
Summary: “Did you know it’s against the law to bathe in a public fountain here?” Sam says, dipping long fingers into the water, still warm from the day’s sun.Dean makes a face at him. “They get enough people doin’ it that they need a law sayin’ you can’t?”





	If I Spring A Leak [A Drunkard's Dream]

**Author's Note:**

> My response to the March Wincest Writing Challenge on Tumblr. Prompt was nonsense laws: mine was Alabama - "no bathing in public fountains".
> 
> Title from "Up On Cripple Creek" by The Band.
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply. Feedback lives in my inbox indefinitely.

They're in Alabama, death of a werewolf celebrated with too much whisky, and when they leave the bar, Dean detours over to the stone fountain in the town square, sinking onto the edge with a groan. Sam shakes his head fondly, sinks down next to him. 

“Did you know it’s against the law to bathe in a public fountain here?” Sam says, dipping long fingers into the water, still warm from the day’s sun.

Dean makes a face at him. “They get enough people doin’ it that they need a law sayin’ you can’t?”

Dean gets a bit of an accent when he’s drunk like this, drops his ‘g’s and slurs a little and Sam isn’t sure where it comes from, ‘cause they’ve never lived in one place for any kind of accent to develop naturally. All he knows is that it hits him low in the belly, sends warm shivers radiating outwards. Mostly when he’s a bit drunk too, like now.

“I guess,” he says, flicking water toward Dean, who doesn’t even bother to try and avoid it.

“Huh,” Dean says thoughtfully, lips pursing. He digs in his pockets, removes his wallet and cellphone, setting them neatly on the edge of the fountain with the careful precision of someone whose motor functions are impaired - and then rolls over the edge into the water with a splash that Sam squawks and ducks away from. “Dean, what the - ”

“‘M not bathin’,” Dean replies easily. The fountain’s not too deep - sitting flat on the bottom, the water barely reaches his waist. Sam rises from his crouch and sits on the edge again, staring at his drunken fool brother. “What?”

“Can’t arrest me,” Dean clarifies. “‘M not bathin’. Just swimmin’.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Sure, explain that to the cops.”

Dean reclines back on his elbows, water lapping over his torso. “No soap, no shampoo. That’s bathing. This is swimmin’.” He lets his head fall back, water soaking his hair. Sam wrinkles his nose. “You know how dirty that water is, man?”

Dean just shrugs a soaked shoulder carelessly and God, he’s really drunk if his usual germaphobia isn’t kicking in. “C’mon in, Sammy. The water’s great.”

“Pass,” Sam says quickly. “Get out of there. It’s late, and you’re supposed to be dead, so getting picked up by the cops will complicate things.” He stands, leaning over the lip of the fountain to try and haul Dean out of the water, and Dean’s a shit all the time, but never more than when he’s funny-drunk like this, and he just reaches up and snags Sam’s t-shirt, yanking sharply so Sam overbalances and tumbles into the fountain, landing sprawled over Dean’s legs.

“Dean, you maniac!” Sam hisses, spitting fountain water out of his mouth and great, now he’s got salmonella and probably hepatitis and God knows what else. Dean’s just laughing like an idiot, so hard that his elbow slips and he goes down, under the water.

He surfaces, shaking his head sharply, water flying everywhere, and coughs. Sam eyes him balefully; serves him right if he drowns himself in this nasty pool of lukewarm bird shit water.

“Both wet now,” Dean observes, grinning all lopsided at Sam and damn him to hell, because he doesn’t know how bad that smile makes Sam ache for him when he’s _not_ dripping wet. “Yeah, thanks for that,” Sam snipes back, plastering over his need with irritation, but Dean just slashes his hand through the water, sending a wave toward Sam.

“Would you stop?” Sam demands, bringing his hands together and launching a veritable tidal wave of water back. Dean whoops loudly as he tries to roll out of the way, but their legs are still tangled together and Dean settles for snatching Sam’s hand up and bringing it down hard, splashing both of them.

Sam snarls and launches himself at his brother and they roll together through the water until Dean’s on top of Sam, dripping down onto him, water-dark hair slick over his forehead. They’re both breathing hard and Sam realizes too late that his hand is cupping the back of Dean’s neck and their mouths are inches away from each other.

“Sammy,” Dean says, low and dark, honey-warm and sweet like the whisky they’d been drinking, and Sam tries to reply but all he manages is a sound that’s far too close to a whimper for his liking. Dean grins wide before he leans in, and then his mouth is on Sam’s, lips plush against Sam’s own and Sam gasps in surprise, and Dean takes his parted lips as invitation.

Dean tastes like whisky and fountain water and Sam’s head is spinning. His abs are quivering from the effort of holding himself up out of the water and so he reaches up to hold onto Dean’s shoulders instead, and Dean’s arms come around him, dragging him closer, and their tongues are still dancing together, licking water from each other’s mouths and if Sam is gonna die from E. coli and necrotizing fasciitis and whatever else is in this dirty-ass water, then at least Dean will too, and for some reason, Sam can’t bring himself to be too worried right now.

“Should head back,” Dean murmurs against Sam’s lips, and Sam hums in agreement. “Gonna need a shower,” Dean continues, drawing back enough to let everything he’s thinking show plain on his wet face, and Sam shivers at the promise he sees there.

They stumble out of the fountain, wet footprints leading back to the motel.


End file.
